Only Dreamers Sin
by Czar Ashurri
Summary: On his latest mission, Ezio briefly considers his own death before nearly meeting it.  Maybe that's why this angel is crying.  Mentions of death and yaoi/slash. LeoEzio


**This story was posted on my deviantart account, TheRavenWhoSangFire.**

**Just a simple one shot.**

**Warnings: Mentions of death, yaoi/slash/boyxboy, and _might_ be offensive? to the religious.**

**Enjoy!**

It wasn't that he was afraid of the beast; in all actuality, he was fascinated by it. Cat-like in his curiosity, he knew the beast would eventually lead to his capture, a forbidding thought coupled only by the tangible possibility that a rope in the most public gallows was reserved personally for him. No it wasn't the beast, that semi-conscious ode to Death and violent demise, that he feared but the prophesy it represented. He was the bringer of vengeance and bloody swords and uplifted skirts of untried whores, the rotting eagle built as a damnable god and a demon saint, a ghostly hunter masked by his own identity and past and hatred; hatred stemmed not from the atrocities of his victims—he had long since become accustomed to the demands and horrors of man—but instead came from the nature of his own work. He was stained crimson, once by his pride and instinct to kill those who took away his family, his life, now by his unnerving attention to detail. It seemed appropriate for his death to be as hideous as the one he had wrought, but, staring at the beast, he wondered if he would even get that honor.

Guards were swarming the area like red ants on a kicked hill, their swords out, expecting danger like always when the assassin was rumored to be present. Though now the rumors had been circulating for a month, and they grew lax, no longer raising their gaze to the rafters where the killer now sat, silently. His dark eyes took note of how the younger men edged their way around the beast, the creation. They didn't trust it, asleep though it was. The older men avoided it altogether. It was strange to them and therefore untrustworthy. The white clothed figure above, however, longed to get closer, to invoke the fiery rage of the beast. He calmed his breathing—it had become ragged with desire for that dreaded power—and settled back into his crouch. The excitement he caused when he entered the warehouse was slowing dwindling down and the chitterling of the nightingales beneath him were quieting.

Deep breaths now, preparing to jump. No matter his age, he still felt and tasted the copper twang of thrill and excitement and fear when he jumped from a tall height and landed in a small, often movable, target. Internally, he prayed to whatever gods that no one noticed his descent.

One. Two. Three.

It was simple really; a push through his legs, the straightening of his knees, and he was floating, free for a moment when time and life paused, showing him his secrets. He twisted so he would land on his back in the hay cart below him, and Time was upon him again with surprising speed. Not for the first time, he wondered if the hay beneath him would be enough to cushion his self-induced fall, and the urge to scream came to his throat in a lump that he forced himself to keep down.

Four. Five. Six.

He was taking longer to fall than usual. Even with Time pushing him along, he felt like he was drifting. He suddenly remembered the torch in his hand and threw it at the beast in mid-air.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

He was only a few feet away now. The fire was catching on the wooden prototype he was assigned to destroy, and his mission was complete. Now only to land and wait until he could exit the building a town quietly.

Ten. Eleven…A sharp pain erupted in his side. Looking down, he noticed the arrow—so innocent in design—sticking out of his flesh. Instinctually, he launched a knife in the direction of the arrow, not disappointed by the pained grunt and thud of his dead attacker. Then he was in the hay, hidden.

The guards could be heard outside his prickling cover, voicing their concern, mourning the loss of the feared weapon, searching constantly for the assailant. The killer took no notice, focusing instead on the arrow wedged in his side. He knew not to remove it; his friend, an artist and studier of human anatomy had instructed him once on how to handle puncture wounds. The object embedded in him, the older man had tried to explain, would keep his blood and innards from spilling out, perhaps saving him from bleeding himself dry.

Deep breaths again, this time to still the panic that set in when he thought of the artist. Would he even notice the assassin's absence? Would the wildcat of a friend be worried enough to prowl the streets, searching for him?

Then his thoughts led him in a different direction. Suddenly he remembered his parting with the inventor a few days earlier. Paint covered fingered had trembled as the dreamy artist tied the knots in his armor. He had tried to reassure the older man with soft whispers and a brush on the hand which the artist shook off. His blonde hair was dirty, and for once he looked his age. The beret on his head was skewed more than usual. Before he left, he hugged the older man, relishing in the forbidden pleasure of feeling that body against his, and told him where the killer was going and for how long. Then, as the inventor was shutting the door, he had whispered three words to the assassin.

"Only dreamers sin."

The words had confused the killer as he made his way through the crowds to the docks where his ship was waiting. What had the artist meant? He remembered how the painter had not spoken for a few days prior to his departure, odd for such an energetic man, how the painter trembled when his fingers brushed the skin of the artist's hand, how his own tightly locked heart ached to have the man so near yet unable to be his.

He loved him.

It was a sin to love another man, but the assassin, the symbol of breaking away from the norm, had fallen in love with his dearest and oldest friends. It was odd, he realized, how these thoughts and questions had hit him when he was toeing the threshold of Death itself. He wondered if his feelings were returned, and, as the darkness enveloped him, he accepted that where he was going, it didn't matter.

A choked sob reached his ears. Straining, he opened his eyes to a blonde angel with deep set worry lines. The angel was calling his name, caressing his face. He registered somewhere in his mind that he was lying on a soft mattress and began to drift back into the darkness.

"Ezio! Merde! You can't die on me yet you bastardi!" the angel screamed at him. He had a foul mouth, Ezio realized and opened his eyes again.. Then the angel's features swam into view.

"Leonardo?" he croaked, surprised at his own weakness.

"Yes you idiota! Damn you, Ezio!" the usually gentle artist was crying and beating Ezio's chest. "Do you even know how worried we were about you?"

"We?" Ezio's head swam. He wasn't dead, though he felt close. He tried to sit up but a strong hand kept him down.

"Careful, amico," a soft voice whispered. La Volpe's face appeared in his line of vision. "Your friend here came to me when you had gone missing. You should consider yourself lucky that we found you when we did."

Ezio nodded as the two men lowered him back down on the bed. La Volpe's presence left as his vision went black. Something brushed his lips.

"Leonardo?" he called.

"Yes, Ezio?" the voice seemed close to his ear.

"Before I lost myself, I realized I never had the opportunity to tell you this."

"Ezio," Leonardo breathed, but the young assassin continued.

"I love you, Leonardo," he blurted out weakly. "I know it's a sin, and I know my feelings may not be returned, but…"

Whatever he was going to say was silenced by a pair of lips and an eager tongue. The fever and weakness from near-death injuries did nothing to stop him from returning the kiss.

"Only dreamers sin," he heard Leonardo say as he slipped into an easy sleep. "And I dreamed I was with you. Forever."

And as his consciousness slipped yet again, a hand found his and squeezed tightly. He slept soundly, with a large smile.

**Whew... Now to post everything else.**


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